


Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home

by Lupinmoons



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: But mostly fluff, Canon Compliant, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-21 15:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupinmoons/pseuds/Lupinmoons
Summary: Is it Daddy’s birthday?” Livvy asks, eyebrows hiked, and lips pitched.“No,” says Adam while pulling out spare mixing bowls from the cupboard— it’s a miracle that he even knows where they are, if he’s being at all honest. In their household, the kitchen is largely Ronan’s realm of expertise and all Adam’s good for is washing dishes and the  occasional  toasting of bread.“Are you graduating again?” Gage— a near spitting image of his sister, with all their trappings of dark hair and intense eyes and thin lips, asks  owlishly.“Not that either.”“Then why on God’s green earth are we baking cupcakes?”Jesus fucking Christ, do these kids have some mouths on them.“Because, squirt,” Adam pulls out his phone to search for a decently simple recipe he both had the ingredients to, , and one that wouldn’t turn out an utter mess. “Daddy woke up a bit sad this morning and I thought that if we made him this, it would show him we’re thinking bout him and he wouldn’t be so sad anymore.”The twins look suitably cowed at that, both pairs of eyes going pleading and chorusing a thousand questions on whether Ronan’s okay and when he’ll be coming home and how they could help.





	Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of a prompt on Tumblr.
> 
> Lyric from Taylor Swift song.

Adam’s always appreciated the light thrumming of life that buzzed in Washington, even in the middle of the night. It’s nowhere near as loud as Boston had been, but still, it distracts Adam from floundering in his own thoughts that even now threaten to swallow him whole in an ocean of insecurities and doubts (that had first bore to life in the precarious stillness subsequent Robert’s fists and his mother’s impassive gaze) . ((Adam had lost count of how many nights he'd spent like this, wondering if he’ll ever be good enough to earn his parent’s affections, Gansey’s friendship, Blue’s warmth, Ronan's-Ronan's everything. )) Adam is always questioning if he’ll ever be good enough to deserve the near reverent way Ronan regards him, has always regarded him. To deserve the soft touches and encapsulating kisses and the way Ronan looks at Adam as if he’s the answer to his every question, as if Ronan could find what he’s looking for whispered between the space of Adam’s lips.

Adam tries not to linger too much on the latter anymore, because he knows he'll never find a sensible answer. Knows that he’s never deserved Ronan and all Ronan’s brought to his world. He'd transformed the muted grayscale of his carefully methodical outlook into vivid tones of impossibilities come true. No matter how much he loves Ronan, how he never wants to be without him. Ronan has become a fixture in his very soul that he could never fathom existing without, and yet Adam is still so very inept. Still can’t tell him his feelings in so many words— more often than not opting for gentle caresses and tender kisses that can bring his feelings to life— and he knows he still comes off distant and cold during their more real arguments, despite how sparing they might be. Adam can’t ever contort his mouth in the right ways to speak out loud words of comfort and vulnerability he was so deprived of once upon a time. But still, he tries. Adam tries because this is Ronan, and he wouldn’t be true to himself if he didn’t give Ronan— give them— all he had.

“It’s not your fault,” Adam says, flicks off residue from one of the bright blue creepy-crawlies that had followed Ronan into the real world, from his legs.

Ronan’s only response is an incredulous huff.

Looking at him now, Adam can’t help but marvel at how beautiful and sincere and unshielded he truly is. The dark shadows paint across his face and the light spills over him so that his profile is nothing but flat planes, made all the more sharp, and pale eyes shifting to a haunting, stormy grey rather than the icy oceans Adam has always known and has always ben able to see through. Eyes he’s been enthralled with for forever, even when he only viewed Ronan as the savagely handsome best friend of Gansey’s who infuriated him in ways Adam never was able to completely comprehend.

“Don’t. Don’t do that,” Adam tells him, moving so that they’re shoulder to shoulder. “Don’t push me out because you’re mad.”

“I’m not,” Ronan says, hurried and stubborn, his face morphing into something desperate. 

“Ronan,” Adam says, but actually means bullshit, and the translation seems to have gone through if the decidedly ceded expression that passes over Ronan’s rough but handsome features is anything to go by.

“I hate that I can’t control it, no matter what I do.”

“Hey,” Adam laces their fingers together and squeezes. “Nothing happened.” He kisses Ronan’s shoulder right then, is relieved when he feels the slight loosening of tension there. He’s suddenly, acutely thankful to all the stars above that Ronan can understand the spaces of words that go unspoken between them.

“Yeah, this time,” Ronan sours, eyes flickering to their closed door and Adam understands him completely. Understands that Ronan doesn’t care if those poisonous arachnids had bitten him, Ronan never cared. The only thing Ronan cares about when concerning bringing back his uncontrolled dream things is the possibility that they could hurt any number of the three people he loves more than breathing. One, Adam, who sleeps right besides him every night. And the other two— their set of twins— are just right across the hall.

“It could so easily go wrong.”

“It won’t,” Adam says with more steel than even he expected.

“How do you know?” Ronan asks chargingly. Hesitantly. Imploringly. Like someone would ask a prophet.

“Ro,” Adam says, quiet and tentative while he runs the pads of his fingers down Ronan’s cheek, tracing the outline of his nose and lips and jaw. His fingertips land on the hollow where Adam could feel his heartbeat, and he swoops forward to press an open mouthed kiss to it. He revels in the sensation of Ronan carding a hand through his hair, nails lightly scratching Adam’s scalp. “I’m here for you, always. I won’t ever let anything happen to you or the kids, and I know you won't either. Stop worrying, okay? ” Another kiss on Ronan’s mouth, arms wrapped around his waste to pull him even closer. “Else you’ll start getting wrinkle lines and I’ll have to find myself some new arm candy.”

“Pff,” Ronan snorts, rubs a ginger hand down Adam’s naked back. He can feel the cool scrape of the golden wedding band Adam’s got a matching pair to. “If anyone’s the trophy husband here it’s totally you.”

“Fuck off.” 

“Lynch farms just got another expansion, fuck face,” Ronan preens, and Adam loves him like this. Boasting and teasing and always, always so soft whenever he peers down at Adam. “Me and my herd are gonna blow fucking Wisconsin right off the map with our Dairy prowls.”

“Actually, I think California’s now the state to beat for title of Dairy capitol,” Adam corrects with a nonchalant shrug.

“What the fuck ever,” Ronan snipes, words full of humor.

“Come back to bed.”

“I shouldn’t,” Ronan frowns, and Adam doesn’t miss the fear, fear that’s only ever directed at himself, that ghosts across his face. Adam parts his lips to argue and chide at him that he needs to trust himself, but Ronan must’ve seen that coming from a mile ahead because he stops it with another resounding kiss that Adam can feel to his core.

“Had to be up anyways,” Ronan explains amidst heavy breaths that mirror Adam’s own. “Me and Opal were gonna check out that Farmer’s Market back in Henrietta and Declan wanted to join.”

“Fine,” Adam gripes, follows him out the bedroom to help collect the things he’ll be needing, partially because he’s too riled up to go back to bed now, but mostly because he knows that if he leaves now, Ronan won’t be back until late afternoon. He always misses him so achingly during these long trips away from their home.

God does Adam love that, the idea that he’s got this. He’s got a home that he gets to share with the man he loves more than any other and his two kids that he would willingly lay down his life for. Sometimes he has to stop and just take it all in, climb out of the memories of crying on the steps of the trailer wondering if anything was worth existing for in this world and thinking that the kid he was finally found that worth.

Adam passes Ronan a thermos of coffee for him and an herbal tea for Opal, sends him off with one final peck of farewell. 

“You should welcome me home with a martini,” Ronan goads, grin gone sharp and slightly feral. “Put on a slutty genie outfit?”

Adam pinches his forearm, hard.

“I will never play out some kinda I Dream of Jeannie tableau for you dickwad, get over it.”

“You can’t blame a man for trying,” Ronan shrugs, goes off to kiss the tops of the kids’ sleeping heads. He gives Adam one more kiss before he has to finally head out to the BMW.

Sometimes Adam forgets that these long days apart are just as hard for him.

.-

“Is it Daddy’s birthday?” Livvy asks, eyebrows hiked, and lips pitched. 

“No,” says Adam while pulling out spare mixing bowls from the cupboard— it's a miracle that he even knows where they are, if he’s being at all honest. In their household, the kitchen is largely Ronan’s realm of expertise and all Adam’s good for is washing dishes and the occasional toasting of bread.

“Are you graduating again?” Gage— a near spitting image of his sister, with all their trappings of dark hair and intense eyes and thin lips, asks owlishly.

“Not that either.”

“Then why on God’s green earth are we baking cupcakes?”

Jesus fucking Christ, do these kids have some mouths on them. Adam would like to blame it totally on Ronan’s frame of mind that unfiltered speech is the only way he’d speak around his kids, but Adam knows that ever since they had first brought them home, ten months old and just barely crawling, that they’ve gotten just as much of his cynical outlook than what Adam would’ve liked.

“Because, squirt,” Adam pulls out his phone to search for a decently simple recipe he both had the ingredients to, , and one that wouldn’t turn out an utter mess. “Daddy woke up a bit sad this morning and I thought that if we made him this, it would show him we're thinking bout him and he wouldn’t be so sad anymore.”

The twins look suitably cowed at that, both pairs of eyes going pleading and chorusing a thousand questions on whether Ronan’s okay and when he’ll be coming home and how they could help.

“He’s fine, kiddos, just was gonna miss you guys when he went out with Opal and Uncle Declan today. But he’ll be home any minute, so I wanna make sure this is done by then, kay?”

Gage nods with grave certainty, wielding a whisk like a weapon of war, but Livvy still looks a bit unsure.

“Aunt Blue says that your cooking should be considered a weapon of mass destruction.”

“Like a nuke!” Gage tacks on helpfully.

“Or mustard gas.”

“Ooo! Or like—“

“Neither of you are ever allowed to say the names of weapons out loud again! Not ever!" Adam scolds with no actual heat.

“Hey, but what about,” Gage points to Chainsaw, who’s perching atop the refrigerator watching them. 

“Not my problem.”

They both roll their eyes but don’t press him on it.

“Papa, are you sure you can do this?”

“It’s baking, Liv, not cooking a full course meal," he says, only slightly indignant.

“Ms Gomez says that baking is just like science and that’s why it’s way harder than just normal cooking.”

Adam’s expression goes flat.

“You get to crack the eggs,” he tells her in lieu of a response. 

“Oh, yay!” Livvy crows. Gage howls with the unfairness of it all.

.-

An hour and a half later finds the white marble top island of their spacious kitchen splattered with batter and oil and substances Adam is almost positive he doesn’t recognize. There’s a tray of a dozen cupcakes in the oven but Adam isn’t quite sure that they’re meant to be staying flat, refusing to rise even once the halfway mark passes— that along with the fact that the toothpicks literally are stuck once used to puncture doesn’t bode well. The sink had overflown about a dozen times because one of them keeps forgetting to turn off the water once they’ve rinsed a dish.

All and all, it probably could’ve been worse.

“Aunt Blue’s always right,” Livvy says sagely.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Adam can’t help but agree while frowning at the mess, his heart contracting the moment he hears the front door swing open and the recognizable thudding of Ronan’s farm boots.

“Oh joy,” he mutters as the kids dash off to the front parlor, leaping into Ronan’s arms, batter splattered hands and all.

“Mother of God, Parrish,” he bellows, obviously in a better mood than this morning. “What are these changelings doing here and where are our actual kids?”

Adam can’t help the way his mouth dips down into a small, delighted grin, his heart doing palpitations at the sight of the three people he loves more than anything all together in one spot.

“No, Daddy!” Livvy squawks. “It’s us!”

“We were making you cupcakes because we thought you were sad and we hate it when you’re sad and we love you and Papa is really bad at anything in the kitchen, but he tried.”

“Thanks, Gage,” Adam ruffles a hand in his hair, tugs softly on Livvy’s pigtail, before kissing Ronan hello.

“You taste like shit that’ll rot my teeth.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Ronan’s answering laugh is something splendid. 

“You guys didn’t have to go through the trouble.”

“We love you, Daddy,” Livvy argues, kissing the back of his hand and making Ronan’s expression go gentle in the way it only ever does for them.

“Thanks, princess. I love you more, though.”

Livvy sticks out her tongue, contentious, and Ronan follows suit by pulling a face at her that makes it so she’s cackling.

“Look, I’m sure your Pops has made the kitchen a living nightmare,” Ronan says, and Adam glares at him, affronted. “So what about we go out to grab something sweet? Sit out on the peer while eating it?”

Livvy and Gage chorus excited words of affirmation and Adam refuses to let Ronan in the kitchen till it’s cleaned up.

“Fuck, it looks like World War III or some shit in there, doesn’t it?”

“One more crack at my cooking resembling a war zone and I swear I’m filing for a divorce,” Adam threatens.

Ronan just laughs and something deep in Adam’s chest blooms, pleased that at the very least the cupcakes had their intended effect.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so much for reading you lovely souls!!!!! It would mean the moon and stars and entire galaxy to me if you would leave a comment below letting me know what you thought, or even a prompt of your own<3<3
> 
> Squeal to me about these dweebs on [Tumblr](http://LiterallyLen.tumblr.com)
> 
> With Love  
~Len


End file.
